


We Used to Dance in the 20's

by memelessness



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe-Role Reversal, Angel!Crowley(Corviel), Demon!Aziraphale(Ziraphon), Ineffable Husbands(Good Omens), Other, Reverse Omens, Roaring 20s, Roleswap AU, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 14:31:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19975645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memelessness/pseuds/memelessness
Summary: Ziraphon was a flapper in the 20's. Change my mind





	We Used to Dance in the 20's

**Author's Note:**

> Please support all our works on [Our Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CorvielZiraphon)

It was rare that Ziraphon would go by the female pronouns, and today was no exception. Today, just ‘They’ was good enough.

They wore an unusually short dress (some would call it scandalous, but in an age where women were fighting for their civil rights, they felt it appropriate), posing in front of a mirror. Their feet were stuffed into a pair of very fashionable heels, garters holding their stockings in place.

The demon let out a slow, irritated sigh as their makeup refused to cooperate. Now the obvious solution was to perform a minor miracle, but despite all the frustration, it was fun. They pursed their lips together, checking all angles to ensure the black lipstick wasn’t escaping its domain.

Black was their aesthetic (black shoes, black dress, black mascara and lipstick), but they would always add some flair. Their mass amount of jewelry had been gold with little pieces of blue glass scattered about, and they’d keep some of their more blue feathers attached to a thick headband.

They may not have been a she, but damn they were gorgeous. 

Ziraphon performed an open-armed twirl before the mirror, the skirt of their dress rising just enough to barely reveal the clips of their garters. After that they stood proudly, hands on their hips and a demonic grin across their face. They met with their eyes, frowning slightly as the reached for tinted glasses.

They strut across the apartment, looking out the window to watch the hustle and bustle. The main comotion came from the people, then the tram that came through with extraordinary care. They’d only been back in London for a few months. Normally, that’d seem like a long time, but Ziraphon was  _ ancient _ . A few months felt like nothing, compared to a-century-away-from- six-thousand-years. 

But in a way, it had felt longer. They hadn’t visited the music store since a decade of its opening, and they were beginning to miss their angel.

They decided to take the walk, receiving dirty looks from many people (not because they were dressed as a she, but rather because they dressed like a prostitute. No one had realized they were not a she). Not that they particularly cared. The human disgust complimented the demon. So long as they felt comfortable in their own corporation, why did it matter how others felt?

Ziraphon stopped at the shop door, latching their fingers against the handle and looking through the glass. Faint music played as an angel stumbled about. Were they trying to  _ dance _ ? They managed to stifle a laugh, opening the door.

Corviel stumbled as he heard the bell ring, straightening his tie (he hadn’t started his tie collection yet, so this tie was neither funny nor ‘cool,’ but it was fashionable). “Good evening, Madam.” He hadn’t realized they had been a long-time familiar demon, “How could I be of service?” He spoke smoothly for the era, as if he’d spent recent days flirting with (or at) customers.

The demon saw this as a compliment to their stellar makeup job, swaying their hips with every step, “Oh, I’m only looking for a man who knows how to treat me right.” They grinned wide, watching the sudden dread across the angel’s face.

“Aziraphon?!”

“Hello, Angel~”

“I… you…” Corviel fumbled with his hands as he tried to regain his composure, eyes unmoving from the demon.  _ You look absolutely beautiful,  _ “Wow, I haven’t seen you in some time.”

“Seven years.” They smiled more genuinely, approaching the gramophone as it continued merrily to its song, “We had Tikka.”

The angel hummed a happy little tune at the memory, eyes still following their lifelong adversary, “What brought you to stop by?”

“I was just wanting to say hello,” Ziraphon started, making a vague motion with their hand, “but now I’m just curious about what  _ you’re _ up to.”

“ _ Nothing! _ ” He responded quickly, clasping his hands together. He definitely was  _ not _ dancing. Angels do not  _ dance _ !

The demon stilled as they listened to the music, tapping a careful foot as they absorbed the beat, “Seriously though. Balboa? Charleston?”

Corviel broke eye contact, shoulders raising in embarrassment, “Foxtrot…” He spoke quietly, as if heaven itself was listening.

“The  _ Foxtrot?! _ ” They stopped tapping along, brow furrowing at the idea. This was  _ not _ the right song for a foxtrot! They expected better from the angel!

“No need to be cheek.” He felt his heart sink at the demon’s disgust (he was subconsciously learning  _ just _ to impress them, afterall).

Ziraphon walked away from the gramophone, looking through the store’s still small collection of records (Corviel was trying to make the transition from wax cylinders smooth, as to accommodate as many people as possible). It took them a moment before they found something familiar.

“Angel, if you wanted to learn how to dance, you could have asked.” The demon flirted, switching out the records with great care (as to not anger a music loving angel).

“Like you know how to dance *sophistically*.” Corviel muttered under their breath, crossing his arms over his chest as he remembered the demon’s ‘ballroom dancing.’

Ziraphon raised a brow over their tinted glasses, grin widening as they stepped away from the gramophone. They hadn’t started the music yet, they didn’t need to. With eyes closed, and hands reaching toward an invisible body, they began to sway with perfect footwork. They didn’t need a beat. They  _ were _ the beat.

Since the last meeting of angel and demon, Ziraphon had spent their time 'enjoying' life (in reality, it had been very empty and boring without Corviel). They'd attend galas, and go to parties, and drink at clubs, but above all, they'd dance. Dancing was a bittersweet pastime to them. It reminded them of a particular, neurotic angel the used to deny loving, the rhythms pushing and pulling them through a vast range of complex emotions. It hurt them. It made them sad to be away from someone who would probably never love them back... But it also relieved them, grounding them at the prospect of re-encountering cigar smoke and lacquered wood.

Corviel was, for lack of a better word, very impressed with how elegantly the demon danced. And once again, he was in lo-

“Would you like to dance with me?” Ziraphon was standing in front of him, their hand stretched outward as they patiently waited for a response.

“I…” The angel watched the hand skeptically. The music was already playing. When had the music even started? But he barely hesitated, accepting the wonderful offer. 

Ziraphon pulled them close, their chests touching and excited breaths intermingling. The demon began to sway again, maintaining a slow rhythm so the angel could keep up.

They closed their eyes and took in a deep breath. Cigar smoke and lacquered wood.


End file.
